


Most Dutiful and Affectionate Son

by Madtom_Publius



Series: Valley Forge [14]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Letters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-22 22:32:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7456411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madtom_Publius/pseuds/Madtom_Publius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mail arrived at Valley Forge. Laurens gets a letter from his father. Hamilton does not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Most Dutiful and Affectionate Son

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published on tumblr by publius-esquire

Laurens was so used to getting mail that he could sometimes forget how rare of a treat it could be for the other men. So he barely thought anything when Tilghman called his name from among the aides, and sure enough it was another letter from his father in response to his previous one, with mostly the same inquiries as before: what were General Washington’s plans, how bad were the provisions, where Congress was standing on such and such issue; his father ended the letter trying to convince him to stay where he was and not throw himself in front of enemy fire, &c. All very usual and to be expected. John tucked it safely in his coat pocket to be answered later when he heard Tench call out the next name. “Ooh, our Little Lion has a note.”

 

“Which lady is it this time?” called out old Harrison.

 

“Polly perhaps? Or was her name Peggy?” teased McHenry, wrapping his arms around Hamilton to hold him back as he tried to reach for the letter. “No, it’s Katherine Livingston that has so ensnared your heart, hasn’t she?”

 

Hamilton grinned as he pushed McHenry’s arms off his shoulders. “As flattered as I am that you are all keeping tally of my gallant exploits…”

 

The corner of Laurens’s lips smiled not a little smugly. “You’re the one who insists on telling everyone.” He would have much preferred his friend to have not been so free with the ladies, but Alexander’s reputation was bordering on the legendary. Even he had laughed when he heard that Mrs. Washington had taken to naming the prowling tomcat that stalked the camp Hamilton.

 

James caught Alexander’s shoulders again, calling out in good nature, “Who is she, Tench? You must tell us to whom Hammie has lavished his charms this time.”

 

Tilghman glanced over the writing on the front of the letter, brows furrowing in slight confusion. “Well, it’s from the American islands? St. Croix?”

 

Laurens noticed Hamilton’s face light up with a mixture of excitement and anxiousness. Tench continued through the dispatches, and John’s gaze followed Alexander as he walked over toward the staircase to rip open the note. It had been a while since he had seen his friend smile so gaily and unpretentiously, and he thought it suited Alexander’s features well, the way it highlighted the slight blush in his cheeks. He wished he could make his friend smile like that more often. So when Alexander’s face fell as it looked over the writing, John stepped to his side to see what had robbed him of his jubilation.

 

“I hope you haven’t received bad news,” said Laurens as he leaned against the stairwell.

 

Hamilton folded the letter and shrugged dismissively, covering up his clear disappointment with another half smile. “Just an old patron I’ve neglected for too long. I had assumed it was…from someone else. But come, my dear, it’s time to eat, and I have some ideas for your most recent plan that you should listen to while we mull over our meager rations.”

 

After dinner John had stayed behind finishing correspondence after the other aides were dismissed to sleep, hoping to give more of his opinions on a black regiment to General Washington. But Laurens reasoned the commander-in-chief must have been too tired to listen, as the hard-edged man sat rubbing his temple with one hand and muttering about his hurting teeth until he called for William Lee to prepare his lodgings for bed, promising he would make time for Laurens in the morning. “You know I value your efforts, my boy,” he said, though fatigue lined the reassurance in his voice.

 

With a smile, Laurens bolstered, “It is my duty to do all I am able to procure for the cause, Your Excellency.”

 

Washington almost smiled, but grunted when pain shot through his lower jaw. He instead snuffed the candle on his desk and walked heavily across the room. John studied his leader’s features as he halted at the doorframe to look back at his young aide as a proud father might his son; though Washington was still but a man in his forties, the plagues of war – combined with his own personal demons – left his face haggard and weary. And yet still John would have given so much to have had his own father look at him in such a way. With one more glance at Laurens before stepping out, the General said, “Get some sleep, Colonel.”

 

John laid aside the unfinished dispatches for the next morning before feeling the letter through his pocket. Perhaps he should write to his father now while he had the personal time. But with his lids beginning to feel heavy, he shrugged and put out his candle. “I’ll find time tomorrow,” he rationalized.

 

He expected the other aides to be asleep once he returned to their quarters, but he did not expect to find his bedmate sitting on their cot, slumped against the wall using one of his books as a makeshift table to write a letter with only the filtered moonlight for illumination. On closer inspection, John could see the quill lay limp between Alexander’s fingers, his head rested awkwardly on his shoulder; it seemed his friend had fallen asleep in what clearly could not have been a comfortable position. Had he been waiting up for him? Well, he could not very well just leave the poor boy like that all night.

 

Crawling on their cot, Laurens shook Hamilton’s shoulder gently. “Alexander?” he whispered.

 

His friend stirred, groggily peeping open his red eyes, but hardly awake. “Hmm?”

 

“I think you’d be more comfortable lying with something softer under your back.” He received only a mumbled murmur in response but Alexander seemed cognizant enough to understand his suggestion. John took the book and quill as his bedmate stretched dramatically before curling himself under the blankets. John reached over to place the stationary in the chest at the end of the cot when his eyes glanced over the letter Alexander had been writing and the name James Hamilton caught his attention. He shouldn’t read further. This was undoubtedly a private matter. And yet, he could not quash his curiosity, and his eyes scanned the letter further:

 

“ _My dear father, it has been over a year since I have last heard from you. I am worried my previous correspondence has been lost due to the precariousness of intercourse occasioned by the war. I realize my anxiety at this silence may be misplaced, and it is likely your letters have been mislaid or destroyed before I could have received them. Should my prior posts have not reached you, since we have last communicated I have become, by invitation, an aide-de-camp to General Washington, the commander of the American army. It is an opportunity in which I am in a most favorable position to acquire fame, of which I hope you will be proud. I should very much like to hear from you on this…._ ”

 

No, this was dishonorable. John berated himself. It was wrong to read his friend’s personal letters, a gross invasion of his privacy. Contemptible. What sort of coward was he to violate his friend’s trust like this?

 

Setting aside the letter, Laurens looked back down to his sleeping bedmate. Auburn brows knotted at the bridge of his nose, and Alexander seemed in the midst of a most discomforting dream. John ran his hand through his hair, hoping to sooth the disturbances as he massaged his scalp, but Alexander just buried his face further into the pillow.

 

John’s thoughts lingered on the letter. While Hamilton had come to know of his father - one of the first men of the country, the richest and most respected man of South Carolina - Laurens had not realized until now just how little he knew of this man’s own. The subject had never been broached, and John had not thought to ask. He wondered why his friend’s father remained in the West Indies while his son was fighting a war for the American colonies, why it had been over a year since they had last exchanged correspondence. He could not even imagine what that must be like.

 

If his father had not sent him a letter in over a year, he knew he would have had done something to deserve the loss of love of a parent. 

 

But he knew it would not be his place to ask. Family affairs remained that, restricted to family. It was hardly the place of a gentleman to violate the privacy of another, even less to embarrass him with prodding questions about his relationship with his father. Yet he still wondered. And then he felt pity.

 

With a dejected sigh, John reached into his coat pocket and retrieved the note from his father, and a wave of guilt and shame washed over him. What a poor son he was, he thought, to put off writing back. Grabbing his friend’s quill and ink, he adjusted himself on the cot until his blank parchment caught the moonlight, and he scribbled in the night his belated response, signing, “ _Your most dutiful and affectionate son_.”


End file.
